


Bandaged

by triwizard_tardis



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, Mildly Graphic Violence, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans boy Nero, all tough love though, also Dante and Nero's relationship is open for interpretation, im trans Nero trash, slight dysphoria if you squint, some harsh language on Dante's part, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triwizard_tardis/pseuds/triwizard_tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nero's always been a bit of a sluggish fighter, and Dante thinks he knows why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bandaged

"You tire easily," Dante noted, waltzing into the office, leather clad hands on leather clad hip, expression almost philosophical. He traipsed around, effortlessly, as though he hadn't just finished a grueling duel that might better be described as Nero getting his ass handed to him. Said greenhorn hunter glared at his elder enviously.

"I can still keep up with you, Old man," he challenged through struggled breathing, obviously having broken a sweat. The elder gave a thoughtful look, folding his arms and turning to face the other, leaning nonchalantly on his desk.

"Yes," he conceded, "but only barely."

The younger hunter threw another glare his way, this one more biting, and spat, "What're you getting at?"

Dante just continued to look thoughtful. Perched on the corner of his desk, with one gloved hand under his chin, he studied Nero for a long moment.

"Well, at first I thought it might have to do with this mysterious heritage of yours," he began, "Given how little we know about where you came from, despite your arm, you may have less demon in your blood than I do."

"Right?" Nero acknowledged, fidgeting in place a little.

"But then it occurred to me that Lady can keep up with me just fine, in heels I might add, and she's completely human."

Nero fidgeted some more picking at his sleeves, trying to wriggle his way from the sweat adhered denim jacket. Dante went on.

"Then I thought, you might just be out of practice, seeing as the first time I saw you fight was in Fortuna, which seemed to be more or less peaceful until I got there, at the height of Sanctus's psychotic meltdown."

Nero nodded, still projecting most of his attention on the stubborn coat, and how stuck it was on his protruding demonic appendage. He didn't want to seem like he was catching every word.

"But then, it's been almost a year since then and I've seen you training your ass off everyday."

He finally managed out of his coat, shrugging it off entirely and tossing it onto the arm of the couch. He folded his arms tightly over his chest and tipped his head back, almost emulating suspicion, giving Dante his full attention for what hopefully seemed like the first time.

"Right, and remind me again what your point is," he goaded, knowing that if anyone should be suspicious here, it shouldn't be him. But playing like he had a handle over the situation was helping Nero forget the dangerous territory Dante was wading into with the same casual attitude he held when reading a magazine.

"Hold on, I'm getting there," Dante insisted, holding up a finger to shush the younger, then relaxing his arms back, loosely over his own chest. "Anyway, as I was saying," he redirected dramatically, "My next thought was that I really might just be imagining things, but after our little spar out front a minute ago, I'm gonna say that's not the case."

"Right so what is the case?" Nero interrupted impatiently, allowing for his rapidly tapping foot only because it could easily be read as annoyance.

"Would ya let me finish," Dante whined disbelievingly, throwing up his hands in protest. Nero made a vague hand motion to continue, though he couldn't stop his tapping foot.

"Anyways," the older man stressed, "I've come to the conclusion that I think you're wearing too many layers."

Nero snapped back, horrified.

"What the hell, Old man," he demanded, throwing his Devil Bringer in front of his face and grasping deftly behind himself for where he left Red Queen perched against the wall. "Are you trying to tell me to strip," Nero asked outright and outraged when Dante just looked at him in confusion. The older hunter's face fell blank, a feat which didn't happen often, then he rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

"Relax, Kid. I'm not going to do anything 'unsavory' if that's what you're worried about," he assured, air quoting the word 'unsavory' and using an exaggerated tone to highlight the word, "I was just thinking. It's summer, you're in the big city now, wearing the heavy, lined denim jacket over a hoodie over a t-shirt... I just thought showing some skin, letting yourself breathe, would do your speed and stamina some good."

Nero paused for a second, holding his defensive pose, left hand gripped tightly to Red Queen's acquired hilt, though his devil bringer was lowered around his midsection by know, trying to figure out just how to react to the proposal. He kind of felt like arguing that the hoodie he wore beneath his jacket was sleeveless, but all in all it wasn't an outrageous idea. And Dante did manage to not come to the conclusion Nero thought he would. Given how comfortable he had gotten at Devil May Cry, he thought he might be getting sloppy in hiding it since he arrived. Though that didn't seem to be the case, he still made a mental note to be more careful. Which left him with the matter at hand. Heart still hammering in his chest, and head clouding with a relief he was trying to control along with his breathing, Nero had to figure out how to get out of shedding his, admittedly ridiculous, layers of clothing for another spar. The hand still wrapped possessively around the hilt of his sword wasn't helping his refusal angle at all. He took what he hoped was a subtle deep breath and slowly let his Bringer drop the rest of the way to his side. Casually lifting Red Queen from the wall, he pretended his intention was to inspect it.

"If you think it'll help," he caved with a nonchalant shrug, then he thrusted the blade dramatically in Dante's direction. "But I'm not going any lower than my tank top," he warned. Dante just shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said grabbing Rebellion from where he'd leaned it against his desk coming inside. He slunk out of his on trench coat and vest as Nero pulled off the second layer of his outfit and adjusted his tank top around the chest.

They made their way out in front of the shop once more where the set themselves to spar. Dante gave Nero a calculating once-over before lunging foward to quick jab Rebellion at Nero.

When Dante had said the kid was training daily, he wasn't kidding. Nero blocked every jab, something that would have proven impossible for the younger hunter a year ago. But Dante was relentless, and also still testing a theory. He pulled Rebellion back quickly, twirling the giant sword in his wrist before setting up an overhead strike. Nero pulled Red Queen up to block again, and in the second it took for the kid to poise the sword above his head, Dante veered sideways and buried the edge of the blade in Nero's lower left leg.

Nero, for his credit, only winced, though he yelled aloud when Dante yanked the blade from the muscled flesh, and stumbled back using his own sword as a crutch while his skin knitted itself back together. Dante seized the moment when Nero fell, leaning on his blade, and spun Rebellion up from the kid's exposed right side. Having a hypothesis to test, he only nicked the hem of the younger's tank top, dragging the tip of the sword up through the thin garment and cutting off at the collar. Nero staggered back with a shout.

"Hey! You could've cut off my arm with a stunt like that! Or worse, jabbed me in the throat! I know you're a demon hunter, but don't you know better than to kick a man when he's down!?"

Dante pondered the possibility. Nero had taken to leaning on his sword with both hands after the blow to his calf, but the demonic limb that was his right arm would not be sliced through so easily, as was proven in their very first fight. A factor which Dante took into account by cutting up the shirt instead of across. Along that vein, the older hunter would have been more likely to pierce Nero through the head from under the chin with the direction of that particular swing, but Dante was a professional who knew exactly how to control his blade. Besides, for all Nero's lack luster displays of energy in fighting, he did have fast enough reflexes to avoid being killed be a well executed upper cut.

Anyway, as the freshly torn garment fell open, Dante found a way to solve Nero's issue of stamina and shortness of breath.

"You know, I was curious as to why you didn't have your arm bandaged as well as slung when we first met," Dante called haughtily, staring directly at Nero's chest.

A look of pure terror spread across the younger hunter's face as he felt the summer breeze ghost over his freshly exposed, lightly defined abdomen. He snapped his gaze downward and snatched the ends on the torn black shirt, ripping them closed violently in a vain attempt to hide from his mentor's prying eyes. His face turned cherry red, and his visage turned livid.

"What the hell is your problem, Old Man!?" He demanded, mortified and murderous at the same time.

"My problem," Dante said casually, leaning lightly against Rebellion's hilt, "is that my pupil can't breathe." He gave Nero a pointed look.

"I-I can breath just fine, you bastard! This isn't any of your business," Nero accused acidly. Dante wilted, rubbing a hand across his face and pulling the most serious expression he could without looking terrifying.

"Take off the bandage, Kid," he instructed plainly.

"I just told you this is none of your business, Old Man!"

"Well, that's where you're wrong," Dante explained, keeping his voice even. "You see, one of my employees has made the decision that fighting literal hell-spawn isn't dangerous enough. He thinks he has to go and slowly suffocate himself just to prove he's a man."

"I said I can breathe just fine," Nero shouted defensively, grabbing the cloth remains of his tank top more protectively over his chest.

"Really," Dante challenged. "Should I cut the bandage off too, so we can find out? If it's as 'fine' as you say, there won't be any bruising, right? No broken ribs to speak of even after how hard I've been pushing you today, because you definitely wrapped yourself up safely," he accused, advancing on Nero predatorily, Rebellion stationed to follow through with the threat of cutting the bandage loose as well.

Nero's face fell, and Dante lowered his sword. Then Nero's arms went limp and the kid fell to his knees. Dante stopped and watched. After a few labored breaths, Nero spoke through clenched teeth.

"How did you know?" It was a barely audible mumble, laced with tears the kid was trying too hard to hold back. It was a cover, an angry, closed off shield Nero employed to hold off those ridiculous emotions. But he was open book. His voice broke like a scratched record, and he knew trying to speak again would result in puffy red eyes, and soaked cheeks. It was okay. He didn't really know what to say to Dante anymore anyway.

"I found your T pills sitting on the bathroom sink about a week ago," Dante admitted. There was a long pause in which Dante walked across the empty stretch of tarmac in front of the shop and offered a gloved hand. "Now c'mon, Kid. Let's get that bandage off and address that broken rib properly before it heals itself in the wrong position and you have to grow back a heart too. Once that's done we can call a doctor and schedule a top surgery for your scrawny ass."


End file.
